


love's gonna get you killed

by skai_heda



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Bardo, F/M, The 100 (TV) Season 7 Speculation, evil bellamy blake, princess mechanic!!!, probably canon divergence, void!bellamy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:13:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24393343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skai_heda/pseuds/skai_heda
Summary: the thing is, clarke never really expected bellamy to put a gun to her forehead.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 27
Kudos: 205





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> look they're gonna be good friends or sumn but FUCK CLAIA. NO. NO.

"Good, you're awake."

There's a hand on top of Clarke's arm, holding tightly. "Raven?" she asks softly.

"I'm here," she replies, giving her arm another squeeze. 

"How are we even breathing?" Clarke asks, sitting up slowly.

"We're in some sort of facility," Raven murmurs, glancing sideways. "When I woke up, our guns were gone. Your knife, too."

"Well, we have to find Bellamy," Clarke whispers. "He has to be in this facility, too."

"Maybe," Raven replies. "Right now, I'm not sure there's much we can do. There's no way out of here."

Clarke rubs her head, feeling her arms and stomach for any injuries. "What about the others?"

"I haven't seen them."

She nods to herself, trying to clearly remember what had happened before she had woken up—the Disciples, their breathing masks torn from their faces. The sharp, sweet air.

"Okay," Clarke says finally. "One problem at a time. We have to get out of this room, find the others, and then find Bellamy."

"No need," a voice says, and they turn to see someone standing in the doorway.

"Bellamy," Raven says, slightly surprised. "Hi."

"It's—it's good to see you two," he says quietly, his expression impassive. 

"We need your help," Raven continues. "We came here with others, and we don't know where they are. We're sure their in this facility, though."

"Right," he murmurs. Clarke can't help but notice that he looks different. Well, he did shave, his hair is shorter and curlier, but—something seems off. 

"Where exactly is here?" she asks, getting to her feet.

"Bardo," Bellamy says tersely. "I'm guessing you guys already figured out this place is inhabitable. The unbreathable atmosphere and all. You'll be safe here."

Raven glances sideways at Clarke, frowning. 

"Your friends are safe," he continues, and something about that wording bothers her. "Don't you trust me, Clarke?"

All these years, her answer to that question would be yes. Now, for some reason, she's not quite so sure.

"Of course," she says softly. "I trust you."

Clarke feels Raven reach out and tug on her jacket.

"Good," Bellamy murmurs. "Come with me. I'll show you where the others are."

"What about Raven?" Clarke asks, glancing back at her friend. "Isn't she coming?"

"No," he replies, giving the brunette a quick examination with his eyes. "No, I'll be back for her later."

* * *

He leads Clarke down a long hallway, with a floor, walls, and ceiling of all black. A long strip of blue light is set into the floor and the ceiling, casting an unearthly glow on Bellamy's face. He keeps looking at her every few seconds, a coldness and scrutiny in his gaze that unnerves her.

But she doesn't try to ask what's going on. If she's to figure out what's really going on with him, she'll have to be smart about it.

"Where are we going?" she asks.

"To see the others, Clarke," Bellamy murmurs. "I need you to trust me here."

"I already said that I do," she says, a bit of sharpness in her tone. 

Bellamy looks at her then, a strange parody of a smile on his face. "That's great. I'm glad you're here."

She tries to smile back. "Me, too. Now, let's go get our friends."

Clarke watches his throat bob. "Right," he murmurs. He reaches out and takes her hand, and she resists the urge to pull away.

"Everything's going to be fine," Bellamy says quietly. "But you need to do exactly as I say."

For a moment, it makes sense—and she wants to listen to him. But he holds her hand as if it's covered in dirt or blood, and he doesn't quite look at her the same.

 _It could be an act,_ she thinks. Clarke glances up, trying to find any cameras, and then at Bellamy, trying to find anything that might show that he's being recorded.

In all honestly, though, she wouldn't be able to figure that out without spending at least half an hour searching him.

She's utterly and completely in the dark. And, in a worst-case scenario, she has no way to defend herself. She's competent in a fight, but Bellamy is larger and stronger than her. He'd have her overpowered, possibly killed.

Suppressing a shudder, she thinks back to his hands around her neck during the Red Sun. 

She's fast, but so is he. She knows anatomy, he doesn't.

 _Oh, what the hell are you thinking?_ Is she really going to paralyze him if she gets into a messy situation?

"I'm guessing the others were happy to see you," she mumbles, staring at Bellamy's shoes.

"I actually haven't seen them yet," he says in a factual tone. "But I do know where they are."

"How is that?"

Bellamy smirks a little. "You think I didn't do my research?"

"How'd you get here?" Clarke asks, slowing slightly. She watches him pause for a fraction of a second.

"The—Anomaly," he says, as if the word is unfamiliar on his tongue. "I went to find my sister after she disappeared into it. And I was brought here."

Clarke nods, biting her lip.

"I missed you," she says suddenly. She'd have to outsmart him here.

Bellamy glances sideways at her. "I missed you, too, Clarke. I counted the days until you came here. I knew you'd come here in the end."

"I love you," she murmurs.

He blinks, and for one horrible moment, she thinks that it's actually her Bellamy. 

But no—the situation may be worse. He stops in his tracks and puts his hand against her cheek none to gently, tilting his head down to hers. "I know you do," he murmurs, kissing her forehead, and her heart pounds—not with Bellamy's actions, but with the pure terror that takes hold of her.

"Let's go," she chokes out, pulling away.

Bellamy nods, slipping back into his previous attitude of cold lack of feeling. 

Clarke feels something against her leg, and she realizes that she still has a small pocket knife hidden in the leg of her pants.

_But how is she going to get it?_

"Wait," she says quietly. Clarke kneels and quickly undoes the laces of her boots. "Let me tie my shoelaces."

"I'll do it," Bellamy replies quickly. He smirks at her as he goes to his knees, gently pushing her hands away. He keeps his eyes on hers as he ties her laces, an almost genuine smile on his face.

"You know I can do it on my own, right?" she asks, heart pounding in her ears. "I'm not a child."

"I figured I should do something for you once in a while."

Clarke glances at him. "I figured saving my life had that covered for a lifetime."

"Saving your life," he echoes. "Yeah... I guess it's not enough for me."

Clarke grits her teeth. "You know what, Bell, I think Raven should be with us." Some small part of her hopes that he'll be a little surprised, because she has never, ever called him Bell. But he keeps walking. 

"We don't need her," he says dully. "At least not now. But she'll be very important later."

"Don't you think she should be there when we go and find our friends? It'll be bad if we keep anyone in the dark about this. We can't afford confusion like that. Not here. Not now."

"You know what?" he says, the softness in his voice evaporating. "I really tried, I did."

Clarke feels something cold against her head. "Don't move, or I'll blow your brains out."

* * *

He locked the door.

Raven presses the palms of her hands into her eyes, taking deep breaths. She needed to calm down, she needed to think.

And she needed to help Clarke; because whoever she went with, it sure as hell wasn't Bellamy Blake.

There's no lock or even a knob of any sort on the door—it's just a white panel that seems to slide into the wall.

Raven grits her teeth. She has to get out of here before something bad happens to Clarke.

* * *

Bellamy keeps his eyes on her as he restrains her. The chair she's in is cold, but not as cold as him.

"What did they do to you?" she asks. 

"They showed me the truth," he murmurs.

"Bellamy," she murmurs. "God, Bellamy, let me go right now."

"They tell me that I loved you," he says to Clarke. "Is that true?"

Clarke swallows. "Yes," she says. "Yes, he loved me."

Bellamy raises a radio to his mouth. "I can't imagine how he could ever love a monster like you." 

He turns the radio on and begins to speak, informing whoever is on the other end that he's gotten the target.

Clarke shakes her arm, knowing that to Bellamy, it will look like a struggle. But she feels the small knife slide out of her sleeve, thankful that she had gotten an opportunity to get it when Bellamy had thrown her onto the chair.

She starts to saw at the thick, belt-like material. And with each fiber cut, she starts to form a plan.


	2. but pride's gonna be the death of you (and you and me)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time has passed since he found her. Too much time; years and years to think about how he failed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i want to thank you guys for the immense amount of support i received from the last chapter. it made me realize that i couldn't give up on this that easily. i love you all.
> 
> also, i wasn't really sure where to go from my last chapter, to be totally honest. but here's this idea that's been in my brain for a while, as i've been trying to play with time in this concept. so here's a way i connected it to the first chapter. i'm sorry if it seems too weird or too disconnected from the first part of this, but at the same time, i'm happy with it. hope you guys enjoy.

"You let her get away."

It's a boiling, aching sensation, that need. He had not anticipated Raven Reyes. He had not anticipated the depth of the bond that had run between the target and the glitch.

"I thought Ms. Reyes hated Clarke Griffin," his commander says in a soft, deceptively kind tone. "Could it be that you fought M-cap and succeeded."

"No," Bellamy spits. "No, I would _never—"_

"Put him in the hourglass," his superior says quietly. "Let him—reflect on his actions."

A dull, warm sensation from where the needle is inserted into his neck, and he lets his eyes close as he falls.

* * *

**year 1**

He'd had her in his hands. He had held Clarke, and he had been so close to killing her. So close to achieving what was evidently impossible. But Raven had caused a distraction, used the time to pull Clarke out and drag her to the Anomaly Stone. 

The Hourglass is a sandy beach and a house of glass beside it. A place too beautiful for punishment, a place to good for what he deserves. He's a failure of the highest order.

Weeks bleed into months. And every night, he dreams of what would have happened had he just shot her immediately.

* * *

**year 2**

Bellamy finally understands the manner of his punishment.

They're going to keep him here until he dies.

Alone—unfulfilled.

Sometimes his fingers twitch, pulling the trigger of a nonexistent gun. Hands dipped in the cool blue water by the house, wishing it was Clarke Griffin's blood.

* * *

**year 3**

Bellamy is determined to not lose his mind. He reads, he builds, he swims, he eats, and he trains. They must be watching him, and he has to prove that he's worthy of being put back in the field. And if Clarke Griffin still lives when Bellamy emerges from the nightmarish paradise, he'll kill her with his bare hands, relish in the loss of life beneath his fingertips.

(he dreams about her, sometimes. and then all the time.)

(memories he should not have.)

Bellamy never remembers his dreams, but he has a vague feeling that they must've been very good.

* * *

**year 4**

Something—fights its way to the surface.

_Together._

"Together," he says to the horizon one evening, and he tries to ignore the pull in his gut, some deeply ingrained sorrow.

There are sounds, words that bounce around in his brain. Oppenheimer. Radio. Ground.

Bellamy begins to remember his dreams.

* * *

**year 5**

Clarke had told him that he loved her. How?

_Murderer. Traitor. Enemy. Threat._

(a hand)

She's the opposition to everything he cares about.

(reaches out)

She's dangerous. She's a liar.

(for your own)

She'd kill him in a second, and she wouldn't care.

(whose hand)

Bellamy knows about her cruelty.

(whose hand is it?)

A memory resurfaces, and he holds it, plays it over and over in his head until it is burned into his brain. Clarke Griffin, her arm in his fingers, a silver wristband gleaming. His hand, reaching for her. Her hand, reaching for him.

* * *

**year 6**

Bellamy knows who he is. He knows that he has a little sister that he loves dearly, and he knows what he has to do. 

He thinks of Octavia, then. Her life, from the infant in his hands to the woman in his memories.

The blank spaces are far bigger than he imagined. Reasons for her actions, reasons for his own, unknown.

Bellamy remembers handcuffing Clarke. Twice. He remembers wrapping his hands around her throat.

These memories are the only ones he can really make sense of.

* * *

**year 7**

He screams up at the sky, begging them to take him back. Begging his superiors to let him come back. He screams himself hoarse, and he starts to believe that no one is listening.

He remembers the first month in vivid, sparkling detail. Over time, his first month on Earth comes together, and he remembers _her._

* * *

**year 8**

Clarke Griffin is not the enemy.

(a hand)

(reaches out)

(for your own)

He dreams of her.

* * *

**year 9**

Bellamy has gotten older.

And he is sure he has gone mad.

"I'm sure you're fine," Clarke says, drawing in the sand with her finger. "You aren't crazy, Bellamy. I promise."

He remembers Praimfaya, and suddenly, his dreams are now nightmares.

* * *

**year 15**

"You aren't brave enough to do it," Octavia says quietly, observing the way he holds the kitchen knife to his neck. 

"How long have I been here?" he asks.

None of the others in the room answer.

* * *

**year 20**

He remembers everything.

* * *

**year 25**

Bellamy has gotten old.

And he can no longer the exact shades of Echo and Clarke's eyes. 

He cannot move the way he used to.

And he is going to die.

* * *

**year 31**

He waits to die.

He dreams of her, maybe. But the details are distorted, off.

Her eyes are too blue. Her hair is the wrong length.

She never speaks, for Bellamy has forgotten her voice.

* * *

**year 36**

It takes him some time to walk to the beach, though the water is a mere seventy feet from the house. His hair is grey, skin wrinkled. Bellamy Blake approaches his mid-sixties, and he has come to terms with solitude.

He is an old man, and all he has is the sea. That's okay with him. Clarke Griffin has most likely died by now, maybe found a love, maybe had children other than Madi. Madi herself must be old as well. Or maybe she has died a long time ago.

* * *

"You know what to do, right?" Raven says. Clarke glances down at the sleeping face of Bellamy, reaches out to touch his cheek.

"Bring him back," Echo says quietly, putting a hand on Clarke's shoulder. "Wake him up."

Clarke sits down on the floor beside Bellamy's chair, letting Raven and Hope hook her up to the machine. Octavia gives her an encouraging look from where she stands at the other end of the room.

She closes her eyes.

* * *

When Clarke emerges from a dull haze, she smells salt, her hair moving in the gentle wind. 

In the distance, there is a large house. She stands on a beach, sand stretching for miles.

There's a silhouette against the sunset, and she pulls out her gun, hands trembling. Although, she soon realizes that the gun will not be needed—she approaches an old man.

"Hello?" she asks, and the old man turns. Clarke's heart drops to her stomach. The man must be almost seventy, but he is easily recognizable. Mostly grey hair with streaks of black still a little curly, wrinkled hands and wrinkled face still bearing freckles, perhaps more so.

She puts her hands in the air, gun and all. "Bellamy," she breathes.

"You've come to kill me," he says gently, voice weathered by age. It isn't a question, and it sounds almost like a request.

"Yes," she says. There was no point in lying. "But I've come to save you, too."

He looks up at her, squinting a little. His expression fades into a frown. "You—"

"Yes," she breathes. "It's me, Bellamy."

"Clarke."

"I'm here."

"I remember you," he says. He's crying. "I remember you, Clarke."

Clarke kneels in front of him. "I came back for you."

"Came back?" he asks. "From where?"

She swallows. "I know you remember, Bellamy. I know you remember coming here."

"Almost," he replies, reaching out to grab her hand. Even her own calloused, scarred, and burned hands feel smooth compared to his. "A half-remembered dream."

She puts the gun to his head, and then pulls the other one out of her pocket, putting it in his free hand.

"Shoot me," she whispers. "And I'll shoot you. And we'll be together."

He raises the gun.

"I've been here for thirty-six years," he tells her, and Clarke's heart shatters into a million pieces.

"You won't have to be here anymore, Bellamy," she assures him. 

He closes his eyes, and Clarke does the same. And she shoots.

* * *

He coughs himself awake, heaving and gasping. There are hands on his shoulders, an explosion of words, a small tsunami of comforting touches.

"How long?" he hears someone ask. _Clarke._

"You came out almost as quickly as you went in," says another woman. Bellamy raises his hands to his face. No wrinkles. Scars and bruises, split knuckles and dried blood, sure, but still young. 

"What the hell?" he chokes out.

"Project Hourglass," Clarke says. Her voice, he could drown in it. "It was designed as psychological torture. A paradise, and the subject was left to live a whole lifetime in it, driven mad by isolation. It's one of the Disciple favorites, as far as we know."

His heart pounds. "How long was I actually in there?"

"Ten, maybe eleven hours," another voice says. Echo. Soft touches and eyes that softened only for him. 

"You cut your hair," he breathes. Behind him, a person he recognizes as Hope Diyoza watches him, her gaze flickering nervously from Echo to Bellamy.

"They tried to make me one of them," Bellamy says, rubbing his smooth jaw. "They tried to make me kill Clarke."

"Yeah, as if that could happen," Octavia says from a corner. She approaches Bellamy, taking his hand, and he's never been more glad for his sister's touch. 

"We have to stop them," Bellamy says, pulling his electrodes off and leaping out of his chair. He sways a little, and Clarke grabs him.

"Slow down," she says sharply. "You told me yourself how long it felt like in there."

"How long?" Echo asks.

"Thirty-six years," Clarke answers. "You have a nosebleed. Tilt your head forward."

"Isn't it back—" he starts.

"Who's the doctor here?" Clarke mutters. "Here, just, do as I say."

"What happens now?" he asks. His hands are shaking. He would kiss her if he could.

"We fight," she breathes. "Now, we fight."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes this was heavily inspired by inception

**Author's Note:**

> well... sometimes i feel like i don't want to write anymore because no one seems to read it anymore. i mean, i get hits, but people no longer leave feedback or kudos and i guess its time for me to face that im not really good enough for the readers. which is fine, i get that not everything is for everyone. ive lost a lot of confidence in posting because i worry that all the time and energy i spend on it will be wasted, because people no longer seem to like what im posting. then again, i don't know. but i am still considering the prospect of letting this go and moving onto something that will be worth it. all i wanted was to give you guys something nice to read on a day off, and i started off pretty well, but i think that i am rapidly losing that love from you all. either way, i will still love the people who stuck with me, who subscribed to me or my works, and the ones who offered their opinions back in the day. who knows? maybe i will write again. idk what im trying to really say here but i thought, if you're reading this, you should know.


End file.
